


Chocolate Raisins

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Crack, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Naughty Sherlock, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, holmescest, just a silly drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	Chocolate Raisins

“Um, how did this get into the trolley?” John looked at Sherlock, confused.

“I put them in. Are we done?” Sherlock didn’t particularly like doing grocery shopping, supermarkets or people. And there were plenty of people here, and above all a statistically improbable percentage of screaming infants.

“But… None of us likes them.” John looked at the package of milk chocolate covered raisins with a hint of disgust.

The detective shrugged. “Mycroft does. He loves it when I feed them to him.”

“Ah. That’s sweet.” John grinned.

“Quite literally. My brother always had a sweet tooth. He’ll come to have tea with us today by the way. After this, we’ll go see a play.” Mycroft's idea of a nice Saturday evening…

“Fine. Need something for tea then.”

“You are brilliant today, John.”

“Sarcasm is...”

“I know.”

*****

“Good afternoon, John. Brother.”

“Ah, come here.” Sherlock pulled Mycroft, dressed in his trademark three-piece-suit-armour, in and gave him a not entirely brotherly kiss.

Not brotherly at all, actually, even though Mycroft pulled away quickly enough, his cheeks flushed. He had needed some time to feel comfortable with exchanging even harmless niceties when John was around. Longer than it had taken John to get used to the fact that the brothers Holmes were not just the brothers Holmes anymore. It was fine, though. It was all fine.

Sherlock had felt that he had to tell John about his new-found love when the doctor had not stopped pestering him about whom he was dating. Sexual activities were not that easy to hide from someone one lived together with. Bruised lips, the odd bite mark, a strange way of walking – John had figured out very quickly that there was someone. Eventually, Sherlock had – after discussing the matter with Mycroft thoroughly and dismissing the solution of letting John disappear – told him how things were. John had listened, reminded himself to close his mouth and to start blinking again, and then he had assured Sherlock that this didn’t bother him. They were brothers, yes, but both male and, at least by years, grownups who should be allowed to decide for themselves who they wanted to take to bed as long as they were not hurting anyone. After some thinking, alone in his bedroom, John had wondered why he had been still a tad shocked at first. These were the _Holmes_ brothers. Each of them a genius – and totally incompatible with normal people. If they wanted a relationship, there was obviously nobody else to choose for either of them. So it was totally okay with him.

Mycroft did not come over very often and he tended to keep his distance from Sherlock. Or at least he tried. Sherlock had no such qualms. If he had let him, Sherlock would have been spending the time with sitting on Mycroft's lap and plundering his mouth. As things were, he stuck to frequent touching of his forearms and shoulders and the odd pat on the thigh. And some rather innocent kisses.

“These sandwiches look very tasty,” Mycroft remarked when they had sat down at the table, John in his armchair, the two Holmeses on the couch.

“I made them,” Sherlock informed him, his hand tapping on Mycroft's upper arm for a change.

John cleared his throat. “Well, actually…”

“Shut up, John.”

Sherlock glowered at him and kicked him in the shin. John kicked back. Just the usual behaviour in 221B Baker Street.

“And what is this?” Mycroft gaped at a small glass bowl.

John grinned. “Chocolate raisins. Sherlock said you like them.”

Mycroft closed his eyes for just a moment. “I do,” he mumbled then.

“A lot,” added Sherlock.

John took one. It didn’t taste that bad. “So… Which play are you going to see?”

Mycroft, sounding strangely relieved, told him a long story about it and also mentioned that Sherlock would go there with him in disguise. Which made sense. Nobody knew Mycroft's face apart from his inner circle of important people – ministers, the Queen, this sort of folks. But Sherlock was well known in the public and didn’t want to end up in the newspapers next to Mycroft as these important people might see them together then, and since the Holmes boys were still at odds for everybody except John... It simply didn’t do to risk anything. Sherlock loved wearing false beards and silly glasses and clothes that didn’t remotely resemble the ones of the consulting detective so it was fun for him.

When Sherlock was telling his brother about the exciting case they had solved this afternoon, John realised that Mycroft had eaten two sandwiches (which he had made along with Mrs Hudson, who had another appointment for tea, which was good as she and Mycroft didn’t get along that well and of course she didn’t know about the brothers) but not a single raisin.

Smiling, he took the bowl and offered them to the older man. “Take some. Oh, wait, Sherlock said you like it when he feeds them to you.”

To his surprise, Mycroft’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of red and he turned to Sherlock. “How could you?!” he hissed.

Sherlock snickered and patted his hand.

John looked from one to the other. Before he could say anything, his phone vibrated. “Oh, sorry.” He pulled it out and saw that it was a text from Harry. He quickly answered his sister and stored his phone again. “So… Come on Sherlock, feed your brother some raisins,” he said then, grinning, and then Mycroft shot up from the couch with his face glowing and ran out of the room.

John stared at his back, his mouth open, and then he looked at a grinning Sherlock and he paled. “Fucking hell!” He got up and ran out, too.

Sherlock giggled and took a handful of raisins. Ah, they were pretty good. Not quite as good as the ones he used to give his brother probably. Missing this extra flavour.

Taking the newspaper, he sat back. He had not wanted to see this stupid play anyway and he wasn’t in the mood to dress like a clown, either. He would read the paper and then take a cab to Mycroft's. His brother would have calmed down until then and they could spend a really nice evening – he, Mycroft, and an arseful of chocolate raisins.

  
  



End file.
